


Lies

by iknownothing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 2nd POV, Wish me luck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknownothing/pseuds/iknownothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Attempt at 2nd POV</p>
<p>AU (no wolf)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I really wanted to do something 2nd POV.
> 
> They're always so deep, yo.

You sit alone because you want to, not because no one wants you around.

You wince at the pull of another stretched muscle and baseball sized bruise because you're ok, not because you have no way to fix it.

And yeah, the bruises hurt a lot worse when you're sitting all alone and the only thing to distract you is the fact that you don't have lunch money, but you can always tell yourself it's not that bad.

You can tell yourself a lot of things.

Like, it'll all get better and he really doesn't mean it and, yeah, it's ok for a cut to burn and bleed for longer than a day.

Some things, you know, are lies. A lot of things, you admit, are lies. But, what's a lie, if not something meant to protect?

It's not unhealthy or despicable, it's not black or white, what you do. Lying to get by is a tactic not given out on the street, or on episodes of Dr. Phil, but it works.

When your stomach growls, you remind yourself that you had breakfast, and it's a bit easier to keep going. 

You didn't have breakfast, but you can almost taste the cereal and the pancakes.

When your bruises hurt, you tell yourself that that Advil will kick in soon, and maybe it won't hurt as bad in your next class.

Scientists have a name for this: placebo. Lots of scientists, good scientists, have used themselves as the test subject, so why not you? 

You tap your fingers against the desk and wince when you draw attention, tucking your fingers in the pocket of Cam's old sweater. You shouldn't have it, but it was cold this morning and it smells like him, and you tell yourself he'll never know.

He'll never know, what punishments you earn are for something else; you repeat this in your mind as he tells you, quite clearly, that you'll never be half the man Cam was.

You don't want to be half the man anyone was, but you don't say this.

And the next day, despite the cold, you walk to school in the only long sleeve shirt you own. 

You tell yourself, amidst the chattering of your teeth, that you aren't cold. Of course, you have to say this a few times, since you can't feel your toes.

At school, you get offered a ride home by Stiles Stilinski, and you smile and refuse. Who are you to take rides from strangers, especially the sheriff's son? 

You know what he would say, and you keep your guard up all through your next class, feeling the heat of his gaze on the back of your neck. 

No is such an easy word to say, but sir is so fluid it borders on instinct.

And at home you get locked away like a princess in her tower or the heroic knight in jail and, if you have to play cadaver to your own Dr., you might as well play knight to your own princess as well.

Which sucks, because you're both stuck.

You have an eternal crick in your neck, from far too long in a tower or a cell, an you tell yourself you just need a hot shower to loosen it up. Your neck, and your captor, disagree.

You get a cold shower and a sore neck, but at least you get something.

You like to tell yourself that, with your house and your clothes, you're luckier than most.

You know that, in some countries, they get the bruises and the thrill of sleeping outside in the rain.

When you end up on the porch all night, you laugh at yourself for forgetting your key. 

After sixteen years, you should know to keep the thing around.

Stiles offers to do something this weekend, Scott nodding and smiling beside him, and you smile softly.

No, you're busy.

The weekend will be full of towers and playing knight and princess, since Cam isn't around to play spies anymore.

You steal his sweater to sleep in and, when it goes missing, you're the number one suspect.

It's the only truth you tell yourself; that a black eye is worth it just to smell him again.


End file.
